


Between Lions

by TheQueen (NotTheQueen)



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles is somewhat of a good guy, Angst, Blood Shed, I'm unsure of how to tag, M/M, Promises, Trojan War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:21:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is unbeta'd and sort of just a drabble I started writing simply because it came to mind. Feel free to leave comments how I can correct any mistakes, as I am always looking for ways to improve as a writer.<br/>Thanks. xo</p>
    </blockquote>





	Between Lions

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd and sort of just a drabble I started writing simply because it came to mind. Feel free to leave comments how I can correct any mistakes, as I am always looking for ways to improve as a writer.  
> Thanks. xo

Urgency and desperation propel Achilles forward. The armor, though neatly crafted, is not meant to fit his build and thus manages to hinder the fluid motions of the male preparing to approach the battlefield.

 

Hushed words and silent offerings of concern have previously met the ears of the Prince of Phthia, instantly invoking a sense of urgency. Footfalls do not occur quickly enough to propel him at a pace hasty enough. Time is of the essence and Achilles fears that it has already fallen short.

Before agreement to enter the field, Patroclus promised to return when the Trojans offered defeat with their retreat. The promise has been proven to not have been kept as word are rushed frantically throughout camp at the advances of Prince Hektor as Patroclus, present in the armor of Achilles, approached the gates of Troy.

“No chariot? Where are the horses?” Achilles voice raises the questions, eyes skimming the location for any means of transportation to offer aid to reach the field. Despite the calm, rational exterior presented, panic has managed to settle into the very bones of the being. Heart wrenching fear curled within the gut of Achilles. The unknown has always been cause of anxiety and now it is unknown if he will make time to arrive before devastation strikes.

When his questions are met with no answers, Achilles’ voice elevates in volume until there is no man in his vicinity that does not hear the thunder of his commanding tone, “Somebody get me the means to depart to fight. The best of your horses. Time is of the essence, so I request you act quickly before punishment if enforced.” The harsh intent of Achilles offered words have the intended effect, arousing the fear of surrounding individuals into hasty movement to rouse the best of the present supplies.

Within a series of several moments, beasts of burden are presented with a less than noble chariot secured to offer means of transportation. In a fluid motion, Achilles’ springs onto the base of the chariot as calloused fingers secure upon the reigns of the chariot. “Prince Achilles, perhaps one of the boys should-”

“I am perfectly capable of steering myself, thank you,” Achilles offers hastily prior to flicking his wrists and stirring the horses into movement. The interruption is not abnormal for the Prince of Phthia often is unaware of the emotions of beings around him; even those of the beloved, Patroclus.

The horses offered, leading the chariot in which Achilles resides upon, are lacking the strength and stamina of his own. Regret intensifying, Achilles is presenting the prospect that with each bit of distance he covers, Patroclus could be covering twice as such and would reach the walls of Troy before Achilles has the barest of chances to offer his warning and aid.

The distance between the walls of Troy and Achilles location is covered in a series of painful minutes to which Achilles feels will not pass quickly enough. As the hooves of the horses thunder upon the terrain, Achilles’ thoughts swirl within his mind, offering him no moment’s rest. It is apparent that shall Hektor make good upon his goal and Achilles will not see the rise of the man he had sent into battle.

In his rage and fury, Achilles has been careless and willing to allow mistakes to be made beneath his watch. Honor has been tainted, prizes seized, and battles lost. After countless errors as a result of his own brazen attitude, Achilles is aware of the looming consequences; the death of his counterpart, the equivalent to his being.

Where Achilles is rage and frustration, Patroclus is the calm that acts as a balance. While Achilles is incapable of displaying mercy for the victims that fall beneath his blade, Patroclus mourns the lives that fall at Achilles’ hand and despises the blood that once stained Achilles’ golden toned flesh.

The cries of warfare meet Achilles’ ears before he is capable of visualizing the sparring battles before him. The colors of warriors fade into a sea of color; where no division is clear and men fight for their breath, no matter the name of the opponent. In the weeks of his absence with fighting, the battles became savage and cruel, lacking dignity and great honor. Nearly ten years of war has the ability to bring a man to such lows.

The lack of clarity does nothing to aid Achilles in the predicament he is in, but increases the struggle and desperation. It’s the mild glint of golden armor surrounded by the figures of the Myrmidons, all consumed in separate sparring struggles. The appreciation of the devotion of his warriors is not something Achilles is capable of grasping within the moment. Distraction seizes his thoughts as the flash of golden armor proceeds deeper into the struggle, nearing the walling of the Trojan city.

“Patroclus,” the vocalization is useless in comparison to the cries of the men surrounding, nor capable of covering the distance stretched between them. Achilles is suddenly all too aware of the distance remaining between himself and the other warrior.

In a single moment decision, Achilles body jolts from the chariot to land upon the pads of his feet. As soon as his lower extremities touch upon the earth, his legs propel him forward in a rate that nears godly speed. Achilles fingers are secured around the handle of his blade, wrenched from its previously sheathed position.The fighting remains thick, proving it to be necessary to fight through the thickest of the battles to reach his counterpart.

With the armor unfitted and designed for another being, Achilles movements are lacking the fluid motions capable in his own golden infringed armor. The crown of his head remains uncovered and facial features are displayed for all individuals to view as Achilles prowess causes attention to be drawn in his direction.

Immediately, the realization settles among the men. If the Prince of Phthia is fighting near their sides, he is not the victor in the golden armor on the opposite edge of the grounds. ‘Patroclus’ ‘Patroclus’ ‘Patroclus’ is the surprised question echoing among the raging scrimmages, each one with surprise that the kind hearted soul has found his way into the fight. It has finally come to be the day where the name of Patroclus echoes among the heroes; the day that Achilles has known would arise. The day where men are capable of viewing Patroclus with the same admiration that Achilles developed many years prior.

“Achilles! Pleasure to see you join us. Might I cut this short, I recommend you depart to the other edge, as your young hero perhaps may be feed too greatly off of his own desire for kleos that consequences may arise,” the words are offered by a man parallel to Achilles. Incapable of turning from the sparring faced with a member of the Trojan defense, Achilles is immediately aware of the individual offering the advice.

“Menelaus, do you think that is not the plan? But are you blind to the struggles remaining in my path?” Achilles’ question is proposed, at the same time grasping the presented opportunity of an elevated limb to force the head of his blade into the unprotected underarm of the now fallen Trojan hero; now allowing Thantos to do the work collecting the souls of the dead trailing in his wake.

Achilles’ eyes strain to seek the male wearing the golden armor that he himself has not worn in ages. When Achilles’ sight falls upon Patroclus, he is incapable of suppressing the cry tearing at his throat, “Patroclus!”

The cry of the male goes unheard by the intended audience. Patroclus remains occupied by his fight and the destruction of his hubris. For this matter, fear seizes Achilles, a feeling he has felt few times in the short years of his life time.

Several hundred meters remain between them, with furious scrimmages blocking an easy path. Achilles, now determined, is unwilling to halt until he reaches the side of his companion. The determination spurs Achilles forward, the usage of his skill, supreme use weaponry, and speed allowing his to progress quicker than he had previously thought possible.

Lives are cut down and souls sent to the gates of Hades as Achilles manages to press throughout the struggles of the battle field. His blade, one gleaming and clean, is now streaked with blood, the shaft gripped firmly by a sweaty palm.

There are few meters and a handful of battles separating Achilles from Patroclus, making the horrors of the companion so much more his own. In the time that Achilles has fought to get to the other’s side, Patroclus’ helmet and breastplate have been removed from his person.

As Achilles’ eyes remain focused upon the struggles of Patroclus until his arm automatically shifts to halt an attack intended to be fatal. A blade bites shallowly into his flesh before his opposite arm shifts to plunge his weapon into the exposed throat of the warrior, inducing a constant stream of blood as the warrior is forced to collapse.

The mild combat is enough to force Achilles’ eyes from Patroclus, automatically seeking the other once more after stepping from the fallen warrior. A choked noise passes Achilles’ lips at the sight meeting his eyes. Patroclus, stumbling having been previously wounded by an unseen warrior, is moving in Achilles’ direction, the latter’s name falling from his lips as if in plea.

With renewed vigor, Achilles presses forward to reach Patroclus’ side. For a handful of moments, it appears as if the distance is closing and both will reach without difficulty. Then the moment is halted when Hektor appears behind the stumbling Patroclus, his weapon gripped steadily in palm as he stalks his prey, resembling all too well the lion, and Patroclus, the man.

As Hektor’s arm elevates to wound the stumbling son of Menoetius, Achilles’ voice rings commanding and strong despite the panic seizing his very being, “Hektor, it is I you wish to end., not Patroclus. It would only prove weak of you to take the life of a man that another has already brought to his knees.”

Achilles’ voice has proven enough to cause a reaction from both the lion and the lamb. Hektor, not aware of Achilles’ appearance on the battlefield, halts in his progress forward, his courage decreasing. Patroclus’ stumbling steps do not falter, if anything propelling him forward faster as his sights remain set on the golden haired male.

“Achilles,” Patroclus manages to choke out, before his body is no longer capable of withstanding the trauma it has endured and he collapses into a state of critical unconsciousness. Achilles, having progressed forward quickly, is capable of curling his arms gently around his lover to prevent the limp body from colliding with the ground.

“Patroclus, we had a deal; we had a promise. You were to come back to me,” Achilles mutters briefly incapable of mustering fury, fingers lightly stroking across the tanned cheek of Patroclus. After a moment, Achilles’ head raises, spotting several lingering members of the Myrmidons. “Take him to Machaon. Make certain he does everything to assure Patroclus’ well being.”

Despite his demands, it takes several moments before Achilles is capable of releasing the body of his beloved from his arms, and only then it is a product of anger. Anger at the gods for playing them in this war, anger at the greed of men, anger at Hektor of his attempts to wound his companion, and most of all, anger at himself for allowing Patroclus to be in such a situation.

Pivoting upon his heel, Achilles shifts in order to face the best of the Trojans, Hektor. However, Hektor may be the best of enemy lines, but he does not have the power of Achilles. Both men are aware of that knowledge all too well.

Despite the pressure to the blood of one another, Achilles steps forward to lay his weapon to the ground, but it is what he offers afterwards that is so surprising, “Hektor of Troy, what has this war done for us? It has brought blood and sorrow, souls have flooded the gates of Hades. All for a woman? All for honor? We are pawns of the gods in a game that they have yet to find tiresome. You have yet to do anything to me, yet your death is prophesied to occur at my hands.

Lay down your weapons against me, Hektor, as I have laid down mine. The years of war are wearing on us, on all of us. I can hardly now remember the sight of Phthia or the voice of my father. Perhaps if my ending in the war comes from my departure from Troy without death, I will not be remember for years to come for bravery, but instead cowardice. However, I will not be dead, and perhaps that is a better alternative.”

Achilles words are presented bravely, without pause or moments for the other male to interject. The scrimmages raging around the two men have come to a halt, each individual confounded that the best of warriors are conversing, rather than fighting.

“I long, Achilles, for a life where the security of my family remains. Death has already dipped its fingers into the royal line, reducing the numbers of my bothers with each passing day. Are you vowing to lay down your weapons against my people and our allies?” Hektor’s response to the question is exactly as Achilles had desired. Both desire peace, it is only a matter of time.

“My weapons have already been laid down, Hektor. My vow has already been made. If Patroclus is well, the ships will be prepared by the first light of morning and the Myrmidons will depart.”

There is a hidden message within the words, a message that both are aware of. If Patroclus does not rise, revenge will be forced to be sought and peace will not ring throughout the land yet. Both prey that Patroclus will rise for entirely different reasons.

The vow between lions, one that is rare, is made. Achilles is all too aware that given time either the Greeks will stop fighting and retreat or the Trojans will win. Either way, Achilles can not find himself caring.

As daylight hours dwindle, Achilles finds himself pacing alongside the medical tent, anxiously waiting to hear the verdict of his companion. He had previously been denied access into the confines of the tent, the healers unyielding to both threats and pleas.

It is only when darkness has settled, whispers filling the camp of the possibility of the departure of the Myrmidons. Some rage with fury, others with concern. Both types of people are met with a cool indifference from the leader. Agamemnon is not pleased, yet refuses to approach Achilles to convince him to remain.

The darkness settles and the voice of Machaon offers Achilles entry to the medical tents. Stepping into the poorly lit confines, Achilles eyes are forced to adjust before he is capable of seeking the figure of his companion.

On the opposite side of the tent, lying flat upon his toned abdomen, Patroclus rests upon one of the pallets. The male’s tanned flesh is dirtied, a combination of blood, dirt and sweat that has yet to be washed from his flesh. The wound from the battlefield is at the base of his shoulders caused by a spear thrown by Euphorbus.

Achilles approaches the sprawled figure of Patroclus, hardly acknowledging the comments of the physicians. Agilely, Achilles shifts to a seated positions at Patroclus’ side, pausing briefly to extend a hand to lightly grasp the limp extremities of the other. “Patroclus, we’re going home. We’ll see Phthia again and we’ll get the figs, just as they’re ripe. We’re going home.”

In that moment, Patroclus’ eyes open and a smile graces chapped tiers. “Home. That sounds nice after all this time.”

****

Sometimes when Achilles wakes to the sound of the ocean, crashing against the beaches, he believes that he is lying home in Phthia with the man he vowed to never live without. It’s in those moments that Achilles is capable of allowing himself a small moment of happiness, allowing a smile to grace his lips.

But the moments after, the moments when he realizes that a dream is what it was, are when the misery settles and Achilles is all too aware that he is living in a world where Patroclus is no longer. The war continues and death presses onward, with Achilles awaiting the day in battle that assures he will no longer face the cruelty of his dreams.

After all, there is no peace between lions and men.


End file.
